The Ugly Barnacle
by 3theCaptain
Summary: Patrick Star told a story to his friend to cheer him up, but he never knew the full tale. He never knew the trials the Ugly Barnacle faced, nor the heartbreak he endured. The story has been lost to time, and remains only as a whisper on the wind. [Satire, parody, occasional strong language.]
1. Fifteen Words

**Fifteen Words**

_Once, there was an ugly barnacle. He was so ugly that everyone died._

_The End._

_**-Patrick Star**_

To this day, these fifteen words are all that remain of this harrowing tale. Fifteen short words to summarize a story of love, betrayal, curses, determination, deterioration, and simple, honest bravery.

But young Patrick Star of Bikini Bottom cannot be blamed for his ignorance. He is, after all, an idiot. These fifteen words were all he ever heard of the story, passed down to him at bedtime from his mother as she gently rocked him to sleep. She always said it with a warm, loving smile, so he never understood their dark significance.

Once upon a time, in a far-off world, a barnacle set off on a grand… _tragic_… adventure.

More to come soon, my children. Let's gather 'round the campfire and sing our songs.

All will be revealed to you soon.


	2. Cursed

****[Author's Note: If you are a Marine Biologist, you are going to hate me by the end of this story. Every underwater creature is treated with human anatomy with a face, two hands, two legs, a torso, etc. If you can accept this break from reality, I hope you enjoy the tale.]

**Cursed**

Where to begin, where to begin… Ah, yes. Ahem:

The tale begins in the days of fairy tales. You know the era: the one with castles and princesses and gypsies and knights in shining armor and evil, beautiful sorceresses that commit genocide because they were snubbed at a party.

In one such magical kingdom (because every kingdom in those days was magical, didn't you know?) there lived the Witch. She was alternately a crooked old hag with a wart on her nose or a slender, ravishing young woman with high cheekbones, depending on her mood, the weather, and whether or not _the Simpsons_ was showing signs of improvement.

But she was not just any witch; she was _the _Witch. She was a dark, selfish, malicious spirit that could never die. Whenever her body was poisoned via apple, or was stabbed by a prince, or had a giant sailboat rammed into it while she was a 300-foot tall octopus, her spirit would simply vacate the body and take a new young woman as a host.

In such a way she lived and wrought havoc for thousands of years. The kingdom in which she had taken up residence – the Barnacle Kingdom – knew resistance was futile. They pampered the Witch; they gave her a palace greater than that of the king's and catered to her every capricious whim. In exchange, she gave them the greatest gift she had ever given anyone: she did _not_ slaughter their children, burn their crops, or rape their cattle.

But her luxurious surroundings made her lazy. She slowly grew bored with cruel little spells and tricks; as a result, over the next few generations the population stopped fearing her. Her palace became overgrown with weeds, nematodes, and Jar Jar Binks. Finally, the new Barnacle King grew tired of the exorbitant expense that was her upkeep. He did not want to waste money on her servants when he could spend it on more useful things, like TiVo.

And then, on one fateful day, the Barnacle King's first child was born: a healthy baby boy.

The Barnacle Queen admired her baby with loving eyes. She said to her husband, "One day, our son will be king. He deserves a nation of prosperity, wealth, and power – yet our every cent goes to that vile woman! We cannot allow her to continue draining us dry. For the kingdom – no, for the _prince_, we must abandon the Witch."

After a long moment of contemplation, the Barnacle King agreed. He ordered the payments to the Witch to cease immediately, and sent an army of ten thousand soldiers to kill her. They surrounded the ruins of the palace. A few of them wondered aloud whether she was there at all, or just a legend.

The Witch sat in her study in one of the towers, looking out the window at the army far below with a slanted grin on her face. _Finally,_ she thought. _Some fun._ She flew down the stairs, the great mahogany front doors exploded outward on their hinges, and the Witch sliced through the army like Stephen Colbert through a republican candidate. She could have simply cut a straight path and gone on her way, but she hadn't had this much fun in _years._ Not a single soldier was left alive.

Her pact of peace with the Barnacle Kingdom now broken, she strutted to the king's castle. The archers fired a hail of arrows at her as she approached, but they curled with flame and crumbled into ash. The stone doors burst inward. The Witch strode toward the King and Queen's throne with her head held high. The King stood to face her as Queen held her newborn son tightly to her chest behind him.

The Witch threw her head back and laughed. "Why, hello again, Your Grace, long time no see. Now, I bet you're wondering why I'm here." With a twist of her wrist, she conjured up a golden chalice of wine. She took a sip. "I'm not one to beat around the bush, so let's get right to it, shall we? Quite simply, Your Grace," she smirked, "I came to thank you."

The King and Queen shared an awed glance.

"Now, now, don't look so amazed. I'm telling the truth. You see…" She took another sip from the chalice as she collected her thoughts. "I'm afraid I've become dreadfully lazy over the years. Disgraceful, really, shameful of me. For the longest time I've been bored. Bored with little tricks and little riddles and little people and exploiting little _miseries, _all out of fear of breaking my contract with you.

"But now – _now!_ Now I remember why I am the Witch in the first place, now I recall the scent of blood and the coursing of magic through my veins!" Her voice grew steadily louder and her eyes began to glow. "_Now I want to do something big, something very big with some big people and big problems and MONSTROUS miseries!_"

The Witch walked right up to the king. She grabbed his chin as she said, "But as I said before… thank you. _As_ my thank you, I bestow upon you this gift: twenty years." She stepped down from the throne. "As a thank you, I will not kill you now: instead, death will fall in twenty years." She smiled. "But not only you, _Your Grace_. But also you," she pointed to the Queen, "and your son, and ALL OF YOU!"

She snapped her fingers, and the baby prince flew out of his mother's arms toward the Witch.

The Queen shrieked, "No!" She grabbed her husband's sword and ran at the sorceress, but when the blade touched the Witch it dissolved into smoke.

The Witch pinched the Queen's cheek. "Silly girl." She patted the Queen's head. "Run along, now. The grown-ups are talking." With tears of hate in her eyes, the Queen stepped back to the throne.

The Witch's face contorted into a mask of loathing. She pointed right at the king and shouted, "YOU BROKE YOUR DEAL, COWARD!" The baby prince hovered in the air in front of her. "_AND I AM NOT KIND WITH THOSE WHO BREAK A DEAL!_" The chalice shattered in her hand.

Ghost-like tendrils of smoke twirled around the Witch like gathering storm clouds. "I will let you live for now, but the penalty for breaking a deal is…" A horrible smile stretched across her face. "_Severe._"

She raised her hands and began chanting. The baby prince floated into the air at the nexus of the swirling cloud of smoke and crackling lightning. "_I CURSE YOU! With every drop of magic in my veins, I CURSE YOU!_" The baby started crying, but his wails could barely be heard over the roar of the storm. "_May you be vile! May you be wicked! May your body be hideous and twisted! May you have the face of a monster, that scares little children and sickens all those who look upon you! And finally…_" The Witch cackled with joy. "_MAY YOU BE THE BEARER OF DEATH TO ALL! To those you love, to your dearest companions, to your family, and to every single living creature in this world! IN TWENTY YEARS, EVERYONE! WILL! DIIIIEEEE!_"

The baby screamed – the smoke span faster and faster until it finally collapsed inward onto the prince. He fell through the air and landed on the stone floor with a light _thud_.

The Witch knelt down, and stroked the face of the boy, pleased with her handiwork. She looked up at the King and Queen. "Except for me, of course." With a flash of light, she disappeared.

**[***]**

As would be expected, the baby barnacle was horribly, horrendously disfigured. The King and Queen themselves found it difficult to look at him. They labored with indecision over what to do with the cursed child.

Finally, the King was forced to come to the terrible conclusion: in order to prevent the prophecy from taking place and heralding the end of the world, the ugly barnacle must be killed.

Hating himself, he handed the child over to one of his guardsmen, with instructions to kill the boy. The guard took the boy out of the castle, out of the village, out of the kingdom, and finally wound through the narrow footpaths of the far-away Black Coral Forest. He paid no heed to direction; he only stopped when he was irrevocably lost in the woods.

Finally, in the middle of the coral forest, he came to a deep, cold, black, crooked stone well. He gathered multiple stones and tied them to the newborn barnacle's blanket. Thusly weighted down, he held the bundle over the edge of the well - and let go. The ugly barnacle fell… fell… fell… then finally struck the surface of the well water and sank to the bottom.

The guard, however, had failed to take into account the fact they were already living underwater, and therefore the baby barnacle could not _drown_. Oh, well. The guard was a starfish, and you know how those folk are. He returned to the kingdom and informed the King of his son's demise.

The Queen never forgave him and they slowly drifted apart, but that is a tale for another day. _Our_ story focuses on the poor child: cold, alone, and afraid, crying at the bottom of a well, with nothing around to comfort him, save for the arc of the sky…


	3. Will Smith: Awesome & Not Relevant

**Will Smith**

**(Is Awesome (And Not Relevant to the Story))**

Now this is a story all about how

A baby's life got flipped turned upside down

And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there

I'll tell you how the universe ended 'cause one barnacle was so ugly.

.

In the Barnacle Palace born but NOT raised

In his mother's arms is where he spent his very first day

Chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool

And all drinkin' milk from - -CENSORED- -

.

When the cranky old Witch who was up to no good

Started makin' trouble in his neighborhood

She cast one little curse on the boy (cute as a pin)

That he'd end the universe and be as ugly as sin.

.

His Mom begged and pleaded with Dad day after day

But he called in the Huntsman and sent the boy on his way

The Hunter wrapped him all up an' left him for dead

But the baby thought "SCREW IT" and lived instead.

.

So the Hunter told the King and the Queen that their boy

Was no longer a bright little bundle of joy

All the while not knowing that in the forest some pilgrims

Heard the child's cry and fuck what the hell rhymes with pilgrim.

.

So one of the slave girls who was no older than two

(Whose name was _not_ little Cindy Lou Who)

Fished the boy out with a pail by the well

(And screamed when she saw his face under the spell).

.

The pilgrims were making a great pilgrim-age

To the La Fin Cathedral to beg the High Judge

To take in the children they'd gathered on their way

(You can't walk the woods without saving destined orphans these days.)

.

The good Judge agreed and most of the children were sent

To the monastery, brothel, or to the convent

But Judge decided to keep the 2-year-old wretch

To serve in his Cathedral; he named the girl "Ketch".

.

But no one would take the boy from the well

So the Judge taught him to ring the Cathedral bells

And in the high tower he's remained ever since:

Orca, the Barnacle Kingdom's lost Prince.


	4. That Chapter With Three Musical Numbers

[Go to Youtube for these three links:

/watch?v=9AaLdP8Kd_8

/watch?v=DezyFYB2MMk

If you do not, you will wake tomorrow morning to find your ears have been replaced with speakers which slowly read through those poems you wrote for fourth grade English class.]

* * *

><p><strong>That Chapter With Three Musical Numbers<br>(Which Really Only Has Two Musical Numbers)**

You're sitting at your computer like a complete loser when the Narrator walks in fifteen minutes late with Starbucks.

"Oh hey, guys, sorry it's been a while. Ha, _traffic_, amiright? But anyway!"

The Narrator pulls out an ancient leather-bound tome and starts flipping through the crinkly pages. "Let's see, let's see... Jack Frost and his sister, no... equestrian rap, no... metaphysical Hermione crack - ha, let's save that for another day... _Between Minds_ - oooh, good one! But we are here for... aha!" The Narrator resettles the book on his/her lap to begin. "_The Ugly Barnacle_. Let me warn you, folks: this is where it gets weird. We reopen our story in the capital city of the Barnacle Kingdom, where a jolly festival is in full swing and a gypsy man sings a jovial song on a stage in front of a crowd."

"_Here it is, the moment you've been waiting for,_  
>"<em>Here it is; you know exactly what's in store!"<em>

The inexplicably attractive gypsy man sang on a bright December day. I mean, I'm not the only one seeing this, am I? Yeah, he's attractive, I can admit that. It doesn't mean anything!

"_Now's the time we laugh until our sides grow sore!  
>"Now's the time we celebrate THE END!"<em>

The crowd cheered. Strumpets cavorted, patricians partied, plebeians part-_ayed_, testudines raced, and everyone was getting stone drunk off their asses. It was a perfect day for a festival.

"_Three thousand years ago in ancient Mayan times,  
><em>"_The priest looked up and saw all the celestial signs,  
><em>"_So now we know the world will End in one year's time,  
><em>"_And so each year we drink our faces off todaaaaaaay!"_

Listen, stop giving me flack about my gypsy comment! So I said he was attractive, so what? I mean, you can see he's got good facial structure, works out a bit, coordinates his patterns well – but it doesn't mean _anything_… SH-SHUT UP!

The gypsy man shouted, "How many of you think The End is really going to happen next December, that the entire cosmos as we know it will End?"

A scattered few people wearing tinfoil hats raised their picket signs and a low murmur of laughter ran through the crowd in response.

"And how many of you can't wait to be here again IN ONE! YEAR'S! _TIME!_"

The courtyard shook with the rapturous roar that followed and the debauchery restarted with vigor. The gypsy's stage was set up at the center of a vast stone courtyard at the heart of the city at the foot of La Fin Cathedral, because Fate has a sadistic streak. For you see, perched on the roof of the bell tower of the Cathedral, a huddled figure was watching the proceedings with jealous blue eyes. (You know, I always wanted to paint my living room Jealous Blue, but it doesn't match the Racist Periwinkle cushions.)

It was Orca: the Barnacle Kingdom's lost Prince. Orca: the boy cursed to rein destruction over his universe. Orca: the deformed 19-year-old who could play Mousetrap pretty well.

Oh, cool: now he's not a swaddled baby anymore, I can actually describe him. There was just something _off_ about Orca. From the tips of his fingers to the soles of his feet to the corners of his eyes, he emanated an unsettling aura that told you like a swift punch to the gut that what you were looking at was unnatural, disgusting, _wrong_. Like the Star Wars Holiday Special.

The good Judge of the La Fin Cathedral was always kind to Orca, but he was almost never around. As a boy, he'd tried a couple times to leave the cathedral, but adults would mistake him for a dog, children would burst into tears when they saw him, and presents wrapped in shiny pink bows had the tendency to burst into flame when he was present.

Unlike most abused heroes who channeled their latent insanity by bursting into song, having jolly adventures, and speaking to mice, Orca was genuinely messed up as a result of his childhood neglect. Imagine that!

The one and only person in his world he saw on a regular basis was Ketch, the servant girl of the Cathedral, who had slowly grown past the urge to curse the gods in ancient Akkadian every time she saw him. It was her duty to sweep the cathedral floor in the pre-dawn hours, light the candles, scrub the benches, and, twice a day, bring food up to the lonely bell ringer in the tower.

Do I even need to keep narrating their relationship? They grew up together, he's always had a crush on her but she thinks of him as a brother yada yada yada… I'm betting you're all thinking to yourselves, '_I know where THIS is going!'_ and raising your eyebrows suggestively at the person next to you. Of course, you _would_ if there were anyone sitting by you, but you're all sitting alone at your respective computers. Some of you may be thinking, "But Narrator, that's not true: I'm _not_ sitting alone! My therapist is sitting right across from me, scribbling swiftly into a spiral notebook as I say this line aloud to no one!" But let me personally assure you that your therapist is not, in fact, real. Tell them this with enough conviction, and sure enough they will disappear into a cloud of smoke and glitter.

What the hell was I talking about.

Right, the story. Tell ya what, how about I just skip over these next few pages... skipping pages, skipping pages... ooh, this looks interesting!

Back down in the square, the hundreds of festival-goers were gathered excitedly around the stage, which was, as before, topped by that attractive gypsy man who gives me happy and confused feelings. But _not_ like before, Orca was onstage and locked into the stocks of a guillotine. Huh. How'd that happen. Oooh, look, the gypsy man's starting to sing again, slowly. How quaint.

_"Now let's gather 'round la guillotine... and sing our Guillotine Song.  
>"Our L-A G-U-I-L-L-O-T-I-N-E Song.<br>"And if you don't think that we can sing it faster, then you're wrong.  
>"But it'll help iiiif... you just siiiing... alooonng..."<em>

The crowd was familiar with the song, and everyone hummed in unison, "Bum... bum... buuum!"

Ketch wandered into the crowd, saw Orca about to be beheaded, and muttered under her breath, "Orca you little [DOLPHIN NOISE]," before running off to the Cathedral for help.

The gypsy man then paced on the platform around Orca, his slowly quickening steps creating the beat.

_"L-A G-U-I-L-L-O-T-I-N-E Song, L-A G-U-I-L-L-O-T-I-N-E Song,  
>"And if you don't think that we can sing it faster then you're wrong,<br>"But it'll help if - you just sing - along."_

_"Bum - bum - buum!"_

Everyone was getting carried away with the beat; its rhythm grew faster and faster so as opposed to a dignified adagio the tempo grew closer akin to an accelerating vivacissimo. Really, bloodthirsty mobs are horrible music theorists.

_"L-A G-U-I-L-L-O-T-I-N-E Song! L-A G-U-I-L-L-O-T-I-N-E Song!  
>"And-if-you-don't-think-that-we-can-sing-it-faster -then-you're-wrong,<br>"But it'll help if you just sing along!"_

_"Bum bum bum!"_

_"LAGUILLOTINE Song LAGUILLOTINE Song  
>"Andifyoudon'tthinkthatwecansingitfasterthenyou're wrong<br>"Butit'llHEEELLLLLP! It'll HEEELLLlp if you just sing aLOOONNNGG!"_

Then there was a gnarly electric guitar riff in the background and a newborn baby shed a single tear from sheer beauty, and the gypsy man with a demonic twinkle in his eye pulled the lever on the downbeat. Orca's eyes squeezed shut.

THUNK.

A gasp went through the crowd. But not the delighted 'cool his severed neck is gushing blood on me' gasp, the perturbed 'darn what the hell not cool guys what just happened' gasp.

Orca hesitantly peeked through his eyelids and was pleased to discover he wasn't a head in a basket.

Just as the gypsy man pulled the lever, Ketch had returned, jumped up onstage, and thrust an iron candlestick into the guillotine the moment before it could do the do. Orca was safe, but the candlestick was in mangles and Ketch didn't look forward to telling its candlestick family about its sacrifice.

This little act of bravery made Ketch level up from Orphan Wench to Badass, and she was suddenly wearing a trenchcoat that billowed around her even when there was no wind. _Especially_ when there was no wind.

Damn, things get boring again, so how about we just skip a few more pages. Uhhh, so the Judge gives a little speech about appearances to the mob, who quickly grow bored and start playing Farmville on their iPhones... someone mentions "boo boo keys," whatever the hell those are... Okay, here we go: basically Ketch, reaching the conclusion that near public execution was a good enough reason to get Orca some goddamn help, decided to see some sort of "specialist" who lives in a gypsy caravan by the edge of the woods. Apparently some old gypsy hag named "Mephisto" has garnered quite the reputation for being a sorceress, almost like she were a Witch who had taken a new body or something. Yeah, good going, Ketch, that sounds like a brilliant plan. No way that's going to backfire or anything.

So yeah, she's at the gypsy caravan by the woods in the middle of the night. It's all creepy and [SEAL BARK]: a bunch of nematodes line the worn dirt path leading to the door, cobwebs hang from the caravan's rafters, and somewhere off in the distance can be heard the terrifying call, _"leedle leedle leedle lee"_.

"Come in, come in, my child," an aging feminine voice purred from behind the door.

Ketch took a long, steadying breath, checked her Facebook status, and entered the tiny, colorful caravan.

The source of the voice sat complacent as a cat on a pile of exotically-colored cushions. She was a squid, and a damn old one, too. "We mustn't lurk in doorways. It's rrrude." She rolled her 'r's like a Ukrainian dominatrix. "One might question your… upbringing?" She chuckled knowingly. "Now, then. You're here because you have a _thing_ for this bell ringer fellow. Not that I blame you," she said sarcastically, "he is quite a catch, isn't he?"

"He's more of a brother, really…" Ketch said, but the readers didn't believe her.

Mephisto (cough, _The Witch_, cough) paid her no heed and started applying lipstick. "Well, angel fish. The solution to Orca's problem isn't simple." She smacked her lips noisily in the mirror. "This isn't a matter of rearranging the face. Orca is _cursed, _and I can't change that. No, the only way to get what you want is for me to cast a spell to make Orca only _appear_ normal."

"Can you do that?" Ketch said hopefully.

"My dear, sweet child." Quiet, rhythmic music started playing out of nowhere because REASONS. "That's what I do. It's what I _live_ for. To help unfortunate bottomdwellers, like yourself. Poor souls with no one else to turn to."

"_I admit that in the past I've been a nasty,"_ she sang.  
>"<em>They weren't kidding when they called me – well, a witch.<br>_"_But you'll find that nowadays  
><em>"_I've mended all my ways,  
><em>"_Repented, seen the light, and made a switch.  
><em>"True? _Yesss."_

She waved her arms over her black cauldron and it snapped open, spewing out luminescent smoke.

"Oh," Ketch squeaked, "a-are we singing now? I don't really know the lyrics."

The Witch ignored her and sang, "_And I fortunately know a little magic;  
><em>"_It's a talent that I always have possessed.  
><em>"_And dear lady_ – please don't laugh – _I use it on behalf  
><em>"_Of the miserable, the lonely, and depressed,"_ She half-turned her face and muttered to herself, "Pathetic." Out of the cauldron, two miniature figures of smoke appeared: a scrawny man and a chubby woman.

"_Poor unfortunate souls,  
><em>"_In pain, in need." _She gestured to the woman and then to the man,_ "This one longing to be thinner, that one wants to get the girl, and do I help them?" _With a snap of her fingers, the male figure transformed into a hunk and she into a picture of loveliness. The figures smiled and flew into each other's arms. "Yes, indeed."

"_Those poor unfortunate souls,  
><em>"_So sad, so true.  
><em>"_They come flocking to my cauldron  
><em>"_Crying, 'Spells, Mephisto, please!'  
><em>"_And I help them!  
><em>"Yes I do."

"_Now it's happened once or twice,"_ she held out her hand to the pair as if to accept money, but they shook their heads helplessly.

"_Someone couldn't pay the price,  
><em>"_And I'm afraid I had to rake 'em 'cross the coals."_ With a violent clawing motion of her hand, they morphed into nematodes similar to the ones lining the walkway out front.

"Yes, I've had the odd complaint, but on the whole I've been a saint!  
>"<em>To those poor unfortunate soooouuuuuls!"<em>

She ceased singing to grab Ketch by the shoulder and start speaking feverishly. "Now, here's the deal. I will make Orca a spell that will make him _appear_ normal for one year. Got that? _One_ year. Now listen, this is important. Before the stroke of midnight in exactly one year's time you've got to do a little favor for me. That is, you've got to kill someone."

"WHAT?!"

The Witch continued as though Ketch hadn't spoken. "Not just anyone, though. You must find and kill _specifically_ the one man who will cause The End."

"The End? That's just a fairy tale, a conspiracy theory! No sensible person believes it's really going to happen!"

"Now, now, my child, since when have sensible people been in charge?"

Ketch wasn't quite sure what to say to that, so the Witch went on. "If you do kill the man who will cause The End before the stroke of midnight in one year's time, Orca's spell will remain _permanently!_ But, if you don't, the spell will be broken and... _you belong… to me._ Have we got a deal?"

"Well... I don't know..." Ketch said. "You're pretty obviously evil. Evil as balls. Seriously, if Every Villain Is Lemons then I think you're about to burn down Cave Johnson's house." Ketch spoke slowly. "And if I do this… I'll be a murderer."

The Witch put on an expression of mock surprise. "That's right! But… you'll be a hero... heh heh heh! Life's full of tough choices, _isn't it?_ _Heheh!_" She pretended to remember something. "Oh! And there is one more thing. We haven't discussed the subject of payment. You can't get something for nothing, you know."

"But I don't have any-"

"I'm not asking much: just a token really, a trifle! You'll never even miss it. What I want from you is: _your sight_."

"My sight?"

"That's right, fish cakes. No more seeing, observing, _zip_."

"But without my sight, how can I find-"

"You have your smarts! Your quirky spunk! And _don't_ underestimate the importance of," she shook her hips raunchily, "_sexual blackmail, haa!" _As the music grew to its climatic pace, potions flew around the room in a whirlwind of chaotic frenzy.

_"Don't you want to be a hero when you're finished?  
>"And seeking out a criminal is fun!<br>"In fact, if all the clues you link,  
>"You'll find <em>he's closer than you think!_  
>"Just stab him in the back and then you're done!<em>

_"COME ON, just do it to make your dearest Orca happy!  
>"You'll find murder isn't really such a chore!<br>"And as for when you're blind?  
>"I assure you, you won't mind;<br>"You don't _want_ to see what the future has in store!"_

A gold scroll and quill snapped into existence before Ketch's eyes. Obviously as an orphan wench she couldn't read or write, but she still knew what that blank line at the bottom of the parchment meant.

_"COME ON, you poor unfortunate soul!  
>"Go ahead! Sign the line!<br>"I'm a very busy woman and I haven't got all day.  
>"It won't cost much: just your SIGHT!<em>

_"Ya poor unfortunate soul!  
>"It's sad, but true.<br>"If you want to cross a bridge, my sweet,  
>"You've got to pay the toll.<br>"Take a gulp and take a breath  
>"And go ahead and sign the scroll!<br>"(After nineteen years, the time is nigh!)  
>"The boss is on a roolll!<br>"This POOR. UNFORTUNATE SOOOOUUUUUL!"_

With a slash of her hand, Ketch grabbed the golden quill like a butcher's knife and drew a slanted 'X' on the signature line. The witch smiled with a mouth full of pointed teeth, and when Ketch's eyes were stabbed by a searing flash of white, it was the last thing she saw for a very long time.

* * *

><p>[I must not claim to own these copyrights. claim to own these copyrights is the mind-killer. claim to own these copyrights is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my claim to own these copyrights. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the claim to own these copyrights has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.]<p>

[Hey, on a different note: I am 100% certain every single one of you is a Half-Life and Portal fan. And this means that the next thing you're going to do (before you go do something completely irresponsible like studying for that math test you have tomorrow) is go to my profile and start reading my REAL story, _Between Minds_. Seriously, it's a real story. This page you're reading right now is imaginary, and I'm secretly living in your house watching everything you do. By the way, you should get more PopTarts.]


End file.
